


Kamikaze Girl

by WhitethornWolf



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 02:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/WhitethornWolf
Summary: A sudden bout of mysterious "illness" leaves Bulma bedbound while Chiyo is staying at her house for the week. There's only one person available to take care of her--would this be a complete and utter disaster? Likely. Would it be a little funny? Absolutely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend reading my main fic, 'Warrior's Daughter', to learn more about Chiyo.
> 
> This is a fanfiction and I provide it to you free of charge, and you do not have my permission to repost, redistribute, republish or make derivatives of my work! This includes selling my work, plagiarizing my work in part or in whole, or otherwise making any sort of profit from my work! Any theft will be dealt with under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA). Fanfiction is considered a derivative work, but I still own the copyright to the written piece, and publishing my work is not license to use it however you please!

"I really appreciate this, Bulma."

It was mid-morning at Capsule Corporation, and Bulma Briefs studied the harassed-looking woman in her living room.

"It's only for three or four days," Chi-Chi continued, clasping her pale hands around the torso of her youngest child. "So Gohan can work with his tutor. You know what a handful she is."

"Tutor, huh?"

Bulma secretly though that Chi-Chi was too hard on Gohan with the studying - after all, he was only six - but she chose not to comment.

"I don't want Chiyo to distract him," Chi-Chi explained. "Gohan needs his study time and he has tests coming up soon."

“What about Goku?”

Chi-Chi immediately scowled, like she frequently did when her husband’s name was mentioned. “Goku who?”

Bulma laughed ruefully. “In the doghouse again, huh?”

“If we had a dog. He and _Piccolo_ – “ she pronounced the Namekian’s name like it was a curse word – “do nothing but train all day long. If I let them watch Chiyo who knows what would happen!” She looked fondly at the little girl, who had wandered away from the two women and was examining an expensive glass sculpture on the coffee table. “Chiyo, don’t touch that. She gets into everything. Gohan was never like that.”

"Well, we don't mind," Bulma replied lightly. "You know Chiyo and Gohan are always welcome here."

"Thank you." Chi-Chi clasped her hands together and smiled, her expression lifting. "Well, I guess I'd better get going...I have an hour and a half's flight home, and groceries to buy." She went to retrieve Chiyo and led her by the hand back to Bulma. “You’ll be good for Mommy, won’t you?”

“Pitty swan,” Chiyo said cheerfully.

Chi-Chi smiled; obviously that meant a ‘yes’ of some kind. Then she sniffled.

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” the little girl said, patting her leg. “I’ll be okay.”

“You can call any time,” Bulma said, patting Chi-Chi on the shoulder. Inwardly she steeled herself for the frequent calls that she would no doubt receive in the next few days.

 

* * *

 

 

"Would you like more orangeade, Chiyo?"

Mid-morning had turned into mid-afternoon. Despite Chi-Chi’s caution on Chiyo’s short attention span, she proved remarkably easy to entertain. Bulma had given her some spare butcher’s paper and dug out some of her old school supplies. Between that and the chocolate cake Bulma’s mother had set out, at least a few hours passed while Chiyo coloured with a ferocity that turned Bulma’s crayons to stumps. All Bulma had to do was work in the living room and keep an eye on her, and exclaim in delight over the little girl’s drawings once in a while. Easy as pie.

The complicated part was when Oolong, Puar and Yamcha came over for barbecue.

"Yeah!" Chiyo chirped, offering her cup for Bulma to refill.

"What's the magic word?"

The little girl instantly looked contrite. "Please? With sugar on top?"

"Well, alright, since you asked so nicely." Bulma stifled the urge to giggle as she filled the cup.

As Chiyo drank, Oolong seemed to notice her for the first time.

“Hey, who’s the kid?”

“Huh?” Bulma turned away from the barbecue, a greasy spatula in her hand. “Oh, she’s Chi-Chi’s. I’m babysitting for a few days while Gohan has some big test.”

Oolong sniggered. “Doesn’t look much like Goku.”

“What, you mean you can’t notice the resemblance? Take a closer look.”

The pig rose up on his knees and peered over the table, staring at the little girl. Chiyo appeared totally ensconced in her drink, slurping with gusto. Her tail uncurled itself and flopped over the side of her chair, twitching back and forth. Oolong blanched and sat back in his chair with a thump.

“Sh-e’s got a t- _tail_ —“

“Took you long enough,” Bulma said rudely.

“Are you crazy?!” Oolong squawked. “If the kid looks at the --”

“You dope! I’ve already thought about that. She’ll be fine.” She tapped her head. “Bulma’s got it all figured out. Don’t you worry.”

Oolong shook his head and dived back into his beer. Bulma turned back to the barbecue, and for several long minutes nobody spoke.

Then a high-pitched voice said, “Bulma! We’re here!”

Yamcha appeared in the doorway with Puar, who perched as always on his shoulder.

“Pull up a seat,” Bulma said, gesturing with her spatula. “There’s beer in the fridge, or orangeade.”

“Right.” Yamcha sat, fixing Chiyo with a curious stare. “Hey, who’s the kid?”

“Honestly, don’t you guys notice anything?” Bulma turned around with a plate loaded with kebabs and set them down on the table, scowling. “She has a _tail_. I’ll give you three guesses whose kid she is.”

Chiyo, strangely, hadn’t pounced on the kebabs despite her previous complaints of being hungry. She returned Yamcha’s curious stare, frowning as if she remembered him from somewhere, but couldn’t place where.

“Yeah, but I sworn I could have seen her before.“ Yamcha took a kebab from the pile and tore off a chunk of meat, chewing quickly as if that would make the answer come to him. “Has she been to Master Muten’s?”

“Yeah, about six months ago. That was when that weird Garlic guy – “

Bulma immediately cut herself off mid-sentence as the unpleasant memories returned in full.

Garlic Jr and his minions were only a vague memory half a year on; she remembered little of what had happened while under the influence of the weird mist he made. She’d been filled in by Gohan and Kuririn afterwards, but it still seemed like a nightmare her brain didn’t want her to recall.

But now she did, in horrifying clarity, and she remembered Chiyo had been on the island with Gohan and Chi-Chi...

“What’s the –“ Yamcha began, but she gestured frantically to shut up. He looked mystified but obeyed.

Chiyo seemed unaware of their exchange; she tore her gaze away from Yamcha and dug into the kebabs with an enthusiasm that Bulma took as a compliment.

“Wasn’t Kuririn meant to come?” Bulma said as she sat down.

Yamcha shrugged. “He’s out with his girlfriend. She didn’t want to come.”

Bulma raised her eyebrow, but secretly was pleased. She didn’t much like Marron (and did wonder what she saw in Kuririn of all people).

But men would be men, and men _always_ went for beauty over brains. As if a girl couldn’t have both!

 

Mrs Briefs appeared on the balcony, interrupting Bulma’s train of thought.

“Who wants tea and cake?”

“Meeeee!” Chiyo squealed, as if she hadn’t just stuffed an entire pile of kebabs into her mouth.

“I can only imagine Chi-Chi’s shopping bill every week,” Bulma said to her mother in an undertone, as Chiyo tucked in to an enormous piece of cake. “Oh wait, I don’t _have_ to. Not with Vegeta cleaning out my kitchen twice a week!”

Yamcha choked in the middle of gulping his orangeade, coughed and wiped his mouth.

“What, Vegeta’s still here? Doesn’t he have somewhere else to go--like back to space?”

“Yeah, he’s training in the gravity machine Dad built for him.” Bulma pointed over the balcony to the sprawling Capsule Corp grounds, to a round structure planted in the grass. “All day long he does nothing but train.” She scowled. “He’s like Goku, but with an attitude.”

Chiyo took a long gulp of the sweet, milky tea Mrs Briefs poured for her. “Who’s Vegeta?”

“He’s an as--”

“He’s a bad, bad, stinky man,” Bulma said loudly, cutting Yamcha off, “who does nothing but huff and puff and growl like a bear with a bellyache.”

“Like Piccolo!” Chiyo said, and Bulma giggled. “He’s big an’ green an’ goes ‘grrrr’!”

“He sure does, honey. He sure does.”

 

BOOM!

The explosion made the entire house shudder, and Bulma almost choked on her tea in her haste to get to the balcony.

 _I’ll bet it’s Vegeta_ , she thought, and sure enough the gravity machine door opened and smoke began to pour from it.

Bulma cursed without thinking.

“This is the last straw!”

“Bulma--”

“No!” she said and Yamcha fell silent, looking alarmed. “I have _had_ it with this rude, pushy, annoying sh-- _Saiyan!_ ”

She slammed her teacup on the table and went inside, pushing roughly past Oolong. Chiyo crammed the rest of the cake in her mouth and followed.

 

Bulma took the stairs two at a time and made a beeline for the gravity machine. She didn’t glance back to check if anyone was following; the pitter-patter of little feet told her it was Chiyo on her heels.

Vegeta appeared at the machine entrance, sweaty, sooty and covered in burns and grazes. He was in his training “uniform” - an old pair of bike shorts and trainers, and nothing else.

“Bulma!” he yelled as he spotted her. “This machine is broken!”

“Oh, really?” Bulma snapped, hands on her hips. “If you didn’t try to wreck everything in sight then you’d be already finished with--well, whatever it is you’re doing here.”

“Training,” he growled. His gaze shifted to the little girl standing at Bulma’s side.

Chiyo looked up at him, blinked and said, “Looks like Daddy.”

Despite herself, Bulma snorted.

Chiyo circled around Vegeta curiously. Her tail twitched as she inspected him, and Bulma saw his gaze follow it.

“So Kakarrot made another whelp,” he said.

Bulma scowled. “Well, at least someone recognizes what the tail means.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I recognize a Saiyan child when I see one, tail or no tail. Even a half-breed.”

“You know she can hear you, right?” Bulma said testily. “Anyway, don’t try to change the subject. We all know your ultimate goal is to beat Goku, but stop trying to blow up my home!”

“Then have your father actually improve the design to hold its own against a Saiyan’s strength!” Vegeta growled.

A wave of dizziness washed over Bulma, and she shook her head.

“Are you listening to me?!”

“I hear you! Just give...me…” she sat down hard and put her head in her hands. “I don’t--feel right.”

“Bulma?” Chiyo’s tiny hand, patting her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Vegeta’s rough voice turned to fuzz in Bulma’s ears, and she let the darkness overcome her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please, for the love of god, don't let Saiyans babysit your children.
> 
> Pregnancy CW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultivar = Saibamen  
> I use the Viz-translated manga as reference, just FYI, so please don't comment pointing out my "mistake". I didn't make one.

“I can’t be,” Bulma said.

Dr Chaques unwound the stethoscope from his neck and began to pack his medical bag.

He was one of the best in West City and he had been treating her family for years, ever since Bulma was born. That, plus a fee for inconvenience were the reasons why he had agreed to make a house call. The alternative would have meant Bulma driving herself and risking another fainting spell, or asking Vegeta for a lift (which he would no doubt refuse).

“You’re definitely pregnant, Bulma,” he said. “Around twelve weeks, I’d say. You really haven’t had any nausea, dizziness, before?”

“Hmm...well, maybe once or twice.” Bulma shrugged. “Just thought it was a bad lunch.”

Dr Chaques laughed. “It happens to all of us.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t to me,” she said. “What’s the next step?”

“That’s up to you,” the doctor said, and patted the bed. “Rest until the dizziness passes, maybe a few days. After that give me a call and we can make another appointment.”

 

Bulma kept the smile on her face until he left, then sank back onto her pillows.

Pregnant. And she knew _exactly_ who the father was.

“I have to tell him,” she said out loud. How he would react was anyone’s guess.

Bulma groaned. And there was also Chiyo to think about. Chi-Chi wasn’t due to pick her up for another two days. Dad was out of town at a conference and Mom was miles away--mentally if not physically. So, who else could babysit a three year old?

Master Muten? Absolutely not, Bulma thought, the kid would come home drinking beer and doing aerobics.

Yamcha? Who knows what he got up to these days--or who he got up to it with.

Tenshinhan and Chaozu? Who even knew where they were?

That left only one option. Bulma found herself grimacing, but oddly satisfied.

_He got me into this_ , she thought. _He can get me out._

 

* * *

 

“No!”

“It’s for  _ two days _ , Vegeta.”

Bulma sat up in bed, fighting the urge to dry heave as her head swam. She glared at Vegeta’s slightly wobbling frame in her peripheral vision.

Arms folded, scowl in place as usual. The scowl deepened when he caught sight of Chiyo, who was fiddling with the blinds in Bulma’s room.

“I will not cease my training to take care of Kakarrot’s brat.”

“Then let her watch or something,” Bulma said, and pressed her temples. “It’s not like you can go into the gravity machine. Not until it’s fixed, anyway.”

Vegeta’s brow furrowed even deeper, so his dark eyes nearly disappeared under his eyebrows. He gave a grunt of annoyance.

“Look, it’s not that hard,” Bulma said. “Make her some food when she tells you she’s hungry, give her something to do so she won’t get bored, and take her to the bathroom every hour or so.”

“Take her to the---? Oh, for f--”

“Come on, Vegeta.” Bulma hated pleading with this stubborn, infuriating man, but she had neither the patience or the focus for a fight. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Vegeta grunted again, but his brow began to smooth out.

“Besides...” Bulma said, and a grin spread across her face. “You know who her mom is? Goku’s wife. Ask Goku and he’ll tell you she’s not someone you want to cross.”

“Feh!” Vegeta said, though he stole a glance at the window, where Chiyo was sitting (quietly, for once). “A Saiyan prince yields to no-one.”

“You wanna test that theory?”

Vegeta gave her a sour look, scowled even deeper, and said, “Fine.”

“Thanks, Vegeta.” Bulma put a tentative hand on his arm, though wasn’t surprised when he pulled away.

“Two days,” he said, folding his arms. “After that, no more.”

 

* * *

 

“Mister? Mister?”

Vegeta woke slowly to a high pitched child’s voice in his ear and a gentle poking on his shoulder.

Grumbling, he swatted at the air and heard an ‘oof!’ as the culprit hit the floor with a thud.

Ten seconds of peace, then…

Poke.

“Mister? I’m hungry. Mister?”

Vegeta peeled his face off his pillow to be met with two wide black eyes inches from his nose.

“Mister,” said the disruptor of the peace. “I’m hungry.”

“Out,” Vegeta said.

The whelp looked confused.

“OUT!”

Chiyo scowled. “ _ Hungry _ .”

_ “Vegeta!” _ came a voice from down the hall.  _ “Feed her!” _

“With what?!”

_ “I don’t know! Whatever’s in the fridge! You’re a grown man, figure it out!” _

Would he have no peace?

* * *

 

The sound of shattering glass brought Vegeta back to his senses once again; he hadn’t even realised he’d fallen back asleep.

_ “VEGETA!” _

“Hold your horses, woman!” he shouted and threw back the covers. Another bang reached his ears. It was coming from the kitchen, where--

Vegeta shot upright.  _ The cursed brat. _

He pulled on yesterday’s clothes so quickly he nearly tore them, all the while seething. Damn the whelp! Did she not have any discipline? Could she not even fend for herself like other Saiyan children? Then again, she was a half-breed. Who knew what human genetics did for a Saiyan’s survival instinct?

 

 

The scene that greeted him when he came into the kitchen was like something out of a nightmare, and for a moment he stood and stared--for once in his life speechless.

Milk covered every inch of the tiled floor and squished under his boots. A box of dry cereal overturned, spilling its contents all over the benchtop and floor, sticking to the white rivulets running down the cupboards and soaking into the spilled liquid. A cracked glass tumbler sitting nearby half full of what looked like juice, which made its way into the puddle in a steady stream.

In the middle of it all stood Chiyo, staring blankly at the mess. As Vegeta rose in front of her--eyes bleary, hair standing in every direction, face red--she stared back at him.

“YOU,” Vegeta said. No other words seemed able to force their way out of his throat.

For a long, long moment there was a deafening silence. Then he lunged.

 

Chiyo let loose an ear-splitting squeal and jumped. She landed on his head--Vegeta roared--and slid down his back, almost knocking him into the mess.

What followed was a five minute chase through the house as chaos ensued--Chiyo screaming, Vegeta cursing, thuds and bangs and squished milk footprints.

He finally caught up to her in one of the hallways and seized her arm, holding her with an iron grip while she struggled.  For once in his life he had to force himself to calm down.  What in hell possessed him to agree to mind this demon of a child completely escaped him, and for a moment he seriously contemplated telling Bulma to deal with it herself.

“Stop struggling,” he growled as Chiyo pried at his hands. “You’ll just waste your energy.”

Chiyo kicked him in the thigh; it hurt, and Vegeta suddenly had an idea.

 

He’d been an excitable child himself long ago, always fighting, always causing chaos (though on Planet Vegeta it had of course been encouraged). Later he realised the energy he expended doing so left him unable to cause trouble for his parents--and later for Freeza. If he could put this brat to work, exhaust her enough, maybe he would finally have some peace.

Vegeta picked up the child by the back of her shirt, ignoring her indignant yell, and headed back to the kitchen.

The fridge, blessedly, was full of food. He pulled a bowl of some unidentifiable dish, deposited Chiyo onto a clean part of the bench and put the bowl in front of her.

“Eat,” he said.

For once she obeyed, and that left Vegeta time to find food of his own. It was cold, but he ate it anyway. Bulma was the one who knew how to work the machines in the kitchen, but one cold meal would not kill him.

 

When Chiyo’s bowl was empty he took her into the yard.

_Now what?_ He thought. The gravity machine was broken; even if it wasn’t he couldn’t keep an eye on the child and train to his full strength. If he let her out of his sight there was no telling what she might do.

Suddenly, brilliantly, the solution came to him.

“Stay here!” he told the whelp. “Move from this spot and you’ll wish you had never been born!”

 

* * *

 

When Vegeta had left Freeza’s ‘employ’ he’d taken what was left of the Cultivars; partly out of spite and partly because they’d proven their usefulness against Earthlings before.

He’d kept them locked away--who knew what the meddling Bulma would do if she found them--or on his person at all times, and they were one of the few possessions he’d brought with him to Earth. One or two would be more than enough to keep the whelp occupied while he trained.

 

Chiyo hadn’t moved when Vegeta returned, and only stared when he made a hole in the soil and planted a seed.

“Tell me Kakarrot has begun to train you, whelp.”

“Huh?”

“Your father,” Vegeta said, and patted down the fresh soil. “Did he teach you to fight, or is he too soft?”

Chiyo began to reply, but stopped when the soil began to shift. She took a few steps back, eyes wide.

The Cultivar burst from the ground with a shriek. To her credit she didn’t cry or run screaming.

“Fight her,” Vegeta instructed it. “No killing or serious injury.” He paused, then added, “No acid, either.”

“What?” Chiyo said, but the Cultivar attacked. She dodged its punch with a surprised yell, and Vegeta stepped away.

Back to training.


End file.
